


Fortress

by TheCursedChild



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCursedChild/pseuds/TheCursedChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Monroe is called to a town in the middle of nowhere to conquer a stronghold that has risen up in the middle of his Republic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

General Sebastian Monroe sits astride his horse, soldiers marching behind him in twenty-five rows of four. There’s a Militia camp just ahead, smoke rising from the fires and armed guards coming to meet the reinforcements and President Monroe.

The sight is familiar, and the rider looks at the reason he’s travelled all the way from Philadelphia instead. A great wall in the distance, made of fifteen-feet-tall wooden spikes, obstructs his few of the town behind it. A stronghold that Tom Neville’s convoy hasn’t been able to conquer.

Jeremy had advised him to go handle it personally, maybe get some inspiration for the inevitable full-out war with their southern neighbours. He’d only agreed because giving in to the urge to kill his advisors, soldiers and suitors is bigger these days than the urge to wipe his enemies off the map.

Bass is shown the tent of the commanding officer, and is surprised to find not Neville, but an unknown face with Lieutenant stripes. “Where is he?” the general asks in his most commanding voice, the man before him shaking in his booths as he is faced with the leader of his nation.

“Dead, sir,” the lieutenant answers, his chin on his chest as he stares at the ground, voice small and unobtrusive. The general sighs tiredly at the news.   

He doesn’t care that Neville is dead all that much. Neville had always been loyal to the highest bidder, ready to step over to the Georgians if he got offered as little as a higher rank. Bass has made sure he was never alone with him, already feeling the knife in his back, always the whisper of an uprising in the back of his mind. Nevertheless, Tom had been useful in some ways.

“What happened?” Seeing that the lieutenant is getting ready for story-time, he elaborates, “bare-bones version.” He doesn’t say ‘please’, hasn’t done that in years.

The soldier gulps and takes a breath. “We split into five groups of ten to gather the taxes and search for Matheson,” he starts, and Bass resists the urge to run a hand through his hair. This is going to take a while, the babbling already grating in his nerves. “Neville’s group went to this one, and I heaved the taxes on the cart as usual. The others tried to enter.”

The first thing Bass notices is that Neville isn’t even addressed by his rank, a lack of respect that he can’t fault the soldier for, and one that tells him that there won’t be many hotheads out for revenge when they attack. He wonders if the Neville boy already knows his father is dead.

The second thing makes him interrupt. “You’re telling me that you haven’t been inside the town to get the taxes? How long has that been going on?” Neville had been slacking if what the soldier is telling him is true.

“Three years, sir. They leave everything they owe us outside the gate with a representative, she’s really nice.” The general just looks at him blankly, amazed by the stupidity of his own soldiers.

“Let me get this straight,” he says, “you have allowed a town to reinforce their defences for three years, not knowing what they were doing, not confirming the amount of citizens, nor checking for the presence of a blacksmith or an armoury.” Is he allowed to call a twenty-something-year-old a kid? Yes, yes he is.

The kid shrugs. With the amount of towns they have to collect from it’s easy to dismiss the ones that cooperate. He’s not going to tell the general that, though, because that would most likely mean a bullet through his head. On second thought, Monroe would probably just skewer him on one of his twin blades. A lowly Lieutenant is hardly worth the bullet.

“Neville asked for Matheson, was denied entry, tried to force the representative to open it, and she slit his throat with an arrowhead. We never saw it coming. She’s nice.” He repeats his earlier statement. And it says something about today’s society that cold-blooded murderers can still be called ‘nice’.

“Tell me you at least apprehended her.” He already knows the answer.

“No, sir. She backed away and we were targeted by arrows from over the wall. I am the only one who made it back to camp.” There’s no pride in his voice. Bass sees the survivor’s guilt as clearly as he feels his own even after almost two decades have passed. The kid won’t last long in the Militia. He makes a note to transfer him to the Philly main guard. They haven’t had anything to do in years. Rebels never make it passed the ten-mile mark.

“We set up camp here and have been waiting for reinforcements. Any scouts we sent were killed, and Neville never appointed a second-in-command, so we had nobody to lead either.” Bass doesn’t have a hard time believing Neville was stupid enough to keep all power to himself. The man knew nobody liked him, and they would sooner have listened to his second. Still, it’s a dumb move.

“Did you confirm that Matheson is inside?” The kid shakes his head in reply. He’s yet to give a positive answer to any of the general’s questions, so it’s not a surprise.

Bass thinks of Ben, wonders if the man he used to know would be hiding in a town openly defying the Militia or if he was somewhere else, even more remote, or in the city where it is easier to disappear in a crowd despite the Militia’s presence. He thinks of Rachel, locked in her chambers with Strausser watching her every move. She’s still not said a word to him about her family’s whereabouts; her husband’s or Miles’.

As always, his thoughts skip over them quickly and head straight to Miles, who (like his brother) has disappeared off the face of the earth. Before he can get too caught up in his own mind he hands out some orders to the kid.

“Go help the others expand the camp and confer with the Captain and the Major about the guard schedule. Have somebody come get me here once that’s done.”

“Yes, sir,” the kid salutes and is gone.

Bass throws his duffle into the corner and lays down on the cot, staring at the ceiling of his newly claimed tent and considers the town a mile away. There is no way of telling how many people there are in there. He knows the circumference of the wall,  that the outer layer is made of thick tree trunks, and that archers can climb it to shoot from. Anything else is speculation.

He wonders about the woman who took an arrowhead with her to deliver her town’s taxes, unthreatening at first glance, before taking out one of the best hand-to-hand fighters Bass knows. Every time his men came by, she’s had archers ready to take them out. Is she a soldier or their leader? He falls asleep pondering.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman sneaks into Bass' tent in the middle of the day.

He’s woken far later than he’d expected. Expanding the camp had taken more time than it should, and the sun is already illuminating the sky. The soldier sent to get him up also has breakfast for his general and gets back out as quickly as he can.

Bass is still dressed, so he snacks on a hunk of stale bread with one hand while he makes his way to the battle tent, easy to find in the middle of the chaotic bustle of soldiers. His Major and Captain are already there, quietly discussing the upcoming week.

It annoys all of them that they have no intelligence concerning the town, not even a name. The last thing they want to do is attack without knowing what to expect. They have one hundred and fifty men, and would prefer to go back to Philly with the same amount. They already know they won’t, no battle is without losses.

“We need to get rid of the wall first. The archers will shoot us down from half a mile away otherwise.” It’s the Major who says it, as he’s already done his own long-distance scouting of the place. He could see the arrows between the spikes on top of the wall with his binoculars.

“We smoke them out tomorrow at dawn.” They both look at Bass with a questioning look. “Set the spikes on fire with our own arrows.”

“I’m not sure that will work, general,” the Captain speaks up hesitantly.

“You want to go get the shields and do a frontal assault into the unknown?” Bass snaps. They all know that there is no other way. They will have to be united when they present the plan to the soldiers.

“I’ll go set it up,” the Major throws in quickly before the temperamental president gets angry. “C’mon,” he says, grabbing at the Captain’s wrist and pulling him along.

Bass sighs at the behaviour. He wishes Miles was here, if only so somebody would stand up to him. Or at least someone not cringing the moment his temper gets the better of him. His wish is granted. He’s glad it is, just not at first.

“Monroe,” she greets from her seat on his cot, a crossbow lazily pointed at his heart. Her hair is loose, strands framing her face as her twinkling baby blue eyes take in the general of the Monroe Militia.

She’s probably half his age, looks confident and relaxed while face-to-face with her enemy where her peers are tense and afraid. He sees the hint of innocence hidden in her features, deceptive compared to her skillset. She’s the representative that killed Neville. He’s sure of it.

“Broad daylight,” he mentions, impressed at her daring and the fact that she managed to get into his tent in the first place. Even Miles had snuck into Philly under the cover of darkness. The young woman has already made her first mistake, she’s revealed that there is a way out of her town without opening the gate, for he would have heard it from his men if it had.

“Nice uniform,” he mentions next. She’s dressed like one of his, but she’s not, he knows she’s not. She’s not overpowered one of his either. Her clothes are out-dated by at least a decade, small changes that few would notice. He notices.

The woman had simply walked purposefully to his camp, into his tent, and nobody had thought to stop her when she looked like she belonged among them. With a hundred new soldiers around they wouldn’t know her to be  a stranger. Perfect planning coupled with the right timing. This isn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing for her. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s seven moves ahead of him.

“I got the tat to match,” she grins, lowers the bow and exposes her arm. Ink twirls around her skin, ending in the familiar ‘M’ that matches his perfectly. Same place, just a little bit smaller, but identical. He can’t stop staring, doesn’t take his eyes off it even as he speaks.

“One shout and you’re surrounded. Tell me why I shouldn’t get my soldiers.” He wants her to give him a good reason. Leading the Militia is what he did for Miles, but since his brother left he’s been bored. He doesn’t care about his people, doesn’t care about his land. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Bass is always on alert now, but Miles is the only threat to him, and he’s long gone, maybe even dead. The danger has passed, the looming war with the southern republics repetitive and useless. This intruder is a challenge. Bass wants to figure her out. He needs more time to do that.

He hears the smile in her voice before he sees it on her face. “We’d both be dead, and I think you value your life more than my execution. If they get me, of course,” she brags. Bass knows at least two ways for her to get out of the camp alive, she’s had time galore to make up many more.

“Why am I not dead yet?” She could’ve shot him at his entrance, but she hasn’t. The woman is here for a reason, she sought him out. Bass is intrigued, and not the least bit scared. If he’s reading her right, she doesn’t want him to be. She wants to play.

“Can’t,” she shrugs. Not ‘won’t’ or ‘yet’, no explanation, and she doesn’t look she’s going to add to it. She holds the cards. More cards than Bass can guess there to be in this game.

“I would surrender if I were you,” he stays exactly where he is, suitably weary of her crossbow, which rests comfortably on her lowered arm. His own swords aren’t suitable for this situation, and his throwing knife is in the duffle that she’s already rummaged through by the looks of it. There’s always his gun at his back of course, the one he hasn’t let out of his sight since he looked down a barrel and found his best friend on the other end. It’s his plan B.

“Oh please,” she drags the words out, “Like setting my wall on fire will work,” she snorts, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

The confirmation that she is the leader pales in the wake of her casual mention of his plan. She can’t have overheard it in the battle tent, and his fellow planners know better than to let everybody know straight away when it could ruin the element of surprise.

She catches the look he is quick to hide. “I know you, Bass,” she uses the familiarity with his name in an echo of his best friend, pronounces it exactly the same, but with a dangerously seductive tone, “I know your strengths and your weaknesses.” She sounds so sure of herself, that he hesitates to interrupt with his own snort at the cliché, and allows her to continue.

“I know your past, I know of your family, of your wife and your baby.” He snarls at the mention of his parents, his sisters and Shelley and his child, all dead, long gone. He steps closer, his hand on the handles of his swords, not caring about her bow, which points at him in response. She fearlessly takes a step forward as well, bringing them toe to toe, nose to nose, blue to blue.

“I know your insecurities and your arrogance. I know the insanity shining in your eyes, one of them damaged.” She slowly waves her free hand at the side of his head, where he can no longer see it because his sight there is limited. The arrowhead presses into his stomach, her finger on the trigger.

“I know how you fight,” her free hand goes to his wrist, in anticipation of a move he was about to make. The foresight is uncanny, his other hand slips away from his sword, his anger gone, replaced by confusion. She has him unbalanced.

Her next statement clarifies everything.

“I know Miles Matheson.”

The bow is gone, but the arrow is at his throat. She stands on her toes as she twists him around, cheek to cheek. “And you know nothing about me, not even my name.” It’s not a threat, it’s a challenge.

She’s gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass breaks into Charlie's fortress easily, sets out to find her, and so discovers the first of many secrets hidden behind the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main part of the story is sort of finished (3 chaps), but I have a ridiculous amount of scenes in my head for this Revolution 'verse I've thought up, that I'm going to write in nothing resembling chronological order. Don't despair, there's more to come!

Bass might’ve been caught off guard by the female intruder, but now he’s ready to give as good as he’s got. He’s moved the attack back a few days and smiles as he slips into the darkness toward the town when his soldiers are asleep.

There is a way into the town, and he is going to find it. His experience saves him a lot of time. There are three holes in the wall; the gate, and two barred holes that  allow entry to the river that runs through the middle of the town.

The woman used one of the latter. There must be a gap in the bars that allows somebody to swim through, and though the river is patrolled by his men, it’s easy to snorkel far enough to gain some cover and slip into a uniform before infiltrating the camp. He’s doing a reverse entry.

It’s little more than a game to find the appropriate materials and fashion himself a diving set. He breaks the surface of the water a few hundred yards up the river and slowly wades his way to his access point. The moving body of water is surprisingly clear, pollution ebbing as factories all over the world closed down. Even the air smells cleaner.

That’s inland. The oceans are still being contaminated by the oil platform spills and nuclear waste that people were unable to contain after the Blackout. In a few decades only groundwater will be safe to drink, and in a century or two, probably not even that.

The bars show him that he’ll be able to come up for air on the other side, which is a relieve, because he doesn't fancy drowning at all. The space is big enough to wriggle his body through, though his shirt rips on one of the jagged ends.

He breathes in calmly and takes a look above him, then looks again. A massive stone wall is hidden behind the wooden spikes, archers lying on them to shoot Militia on the woman’s command. There’s a huge collection of arrows and bows stacked at each base of the ladders, and whatever number of soldiers he’d guessed, he was wrong by about three hundred.

From what he can see every house is packed closely together and two floors high. A little math gives him an estimate of almost a hundred houses exactly, and he can read on the ones on either side of them that there are six people for every home. At least half of those are soldiers.

The Militia is outnumbered for the first time since they battled Georgia at the border. They might’ve won that one, but Bass very sincerely doubts two-to-one are good odds. He heaves himself onto dry land and rests against the cold stone.

He uses the same trick she did, and changes out of his uniform into this region’s clothes, brought in a waterproofed bag. He grabs a bow and quiver and strolls through the town, staying far away enough from citizens that a nod is enough to greet them and maintain his cover. He follows the river to the centre and finds the kitchens, where the preparations for breakfast are already in full swing. He tries to figure out where the leader would live, and simply follows his old ‘What-Would-Miles-Do’ plan. If what she said is true, Miles taught her a lot of what he knows. How to fight, how to plan, how to lead.

So he starts at the centre and makes his way to the gate, reading the name tags on each door and ignoring the few people who are still up. Bass doesn't know her name, but he might unconsciously already know what he is looking for. It still surprises him when he does.

_Ben Matheson_

_Charlotte Matheson_

_Danny Matheson_

_Maggie Foster_

_Miles Matheson_

There is no sixth. Bass doesn’t notice that, because he can only stare at the names. Miles is here, safe, alive, here, within arm’s reach. He doesn’t care that Ben lives in the house as well, his search for answers forgotten as he thinks of his best friend. Miles has a family, Miles found his family, and Bass has nothing, Bass has no one.

The general forces himself to focus, distracts himself with the only other name that does interest him; Charlotte. The woman who broke into his camp, held a weapon to his throat, pushed every button he had, led him straight to his brother. Another Matheson who has him wrapped around her finger.

If he goes inside now, he’ll encounter either Charlotte or Miles, who would make sure they were the first to meet the enemy in case of an attack, and exactly the ones he wishes to see. He sets down the bow and quiver by the door, trying to look less threatening. Bass braces himself mentally and pushes against the door, unlocked and hinges silent.

What he finds is an image he would have no problem being his last. Miles is sitting on the couch, feet stretched out on a low table, tumblers with amber liquid abandoned in favour of his niece. Charlotte seems asleep, her head in her uncle’s lap, hair spilling in every possible direction. Miles is combing his fingers through the strands.

“Bass,” Miles says, and the sound freezes said man in his track, he had no idea how much he missed the simple familiarity of his best friend’s voice. Charlie opens her eyes. “What about Bass, Miles?” she asks sleepily. It’s like she is no stranger to discussing Bass with Miles, he has no way of knowing he’s their favourite topic.

“He’s here, kid,” the older man informs her, his eyes locked on the general, weary but happy. It’s been four years, the longest he and Bass have ever been apart, and he’s glad that no matter the outcome, that will never happen again.

Charlie smiles from her place on his lap, pushing herself up with his hand on her back for assistance. “We hadn’t expected you for quite some time yet, Monroe,” she says, but the third filled tumbler on the table shows that they had suspected he would make it to their house by dawn at the latest.

The missing sixth plaque with his name on top of the glass tells Bass they want him to stay.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie meets Miles, which is the starting point of a completely new kind of revolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos, I absolutely love this fandom, and everyone in it. I'm recognizing some names of authors whose works I enjoy immensely, and it's great to know we have a whole community (however small) that still keeps our beloved characters alive. If there is a scene set in this 'verse that you really want me to write, PM me or simply leave a comment, and I will. Enjoy!

_If you ever need me, I’ll be in Chicago. You know where. MM_

She finds it among her father’s documents, hidden beneath the fake bottom of the top drawer. It’s new, arrived with a trader yesterday and Ben immediately took it to his study and only retired for the night hours and hours later. The girl can’t imagine he spent that long looked at a dozen words.

Sixteen-year-old Charlie only knows the initials stand for Miles Matheson because her dad had a picture of him and his brother, a newspaper article and an unfinished letter that starts with ‘Dear Miles’ in the same hiding spot. They are the only traces of her uncle in her life, even his name hasn't been mentioned in years, not since the Blackout. She was sure Miles was dead and gone, and has been for even longer than her mom.

The article is older, her uncle and Sebastian Monroe in a black-and-white photo, the caption proclaiming the rise of a new Militia and naming its generals. She can’t take her eyes of the picture, recalling the one memory she has of her uncle with great difficulty. The men look quite opposite. Miles' hair is dark and his body lean, where Monroe's hair shades lighter and his muscles bulky in his simple shirt, in the days where there were no uniforms yet. In other ways, they are exactly the same, with twin expressions of satisfaction and power, radiating dominance and pride from their place before Independence Hall in Philly.

She tries to figure out what the note means, why she has been in hiding when her uncle is one of the most powerful people alive. Charlie thinks that this is why her dad had focused on the note for so long. Why Ben has hidden every sign of his brother from his family, tucked Miles away in a hidden space like a dirty little secret.

Not knowing how, she suddenly connects the dots. Miles is hiding too. Maybe he ran away from the Militia, and that's why he's made contact after years of silence. The mystery tempts her, and before she can figure out how to ignore her curiosity she’s packed a bag and left a note of her own.

Dad and Maggie can take care of Danny. She’s not needed or wanted here, gets jealous of her brother for getting all the attention and furious at Maggie for taking her mom’s place, at Ben for letting her. She feels caged and useless. Whatever she has promised, she can’t keep Danny safe. She doesn’t know how to survive or how to protect him if somebody attacks. Maggie as a doctor is the best at helping with Danny’s asthma, and what Charlie needs to learn isn’t taught at the tiny school in her town.

She has a teacher in mind.

The track to Chicago doesn’t even take that long on her own, her curiosity, but mostly her newly found freedom spurs her to walk faster and barely allows her to stop and rest. So the first problem she encounters is when she’s already entered the city limits. Her uncle could be anywhere, look exactly like his picture or completely different. She has no idea what she’s going to say yet, or how he’ll react.

Charlie goes to the nearest bar to find a place to stay. It’s pure luck she finds him.

She knows the bartender is dangerous the moment he meets her searching gaze. It’s something in his startlingly blue eyes, coupled with his cocky stance that makes her reach for her crossbow. His eyes flicker to her hands and his shoulders tense, ready for battle.

Charlie can’t see a weapon, but the bar he stands behind could be covered with an arsenal’s worth of guns and blades. There is no doubt in her mind that he will have her at his mercy if she gets close enough for hand-to-hand combat, so she remains a healthy distance away from him.

They have reached a standstill, and going by his satisfied grin he knows it too. He has cover if she shoots, and he can kill her easily if she gets closer. She would start the conversation she had come to have, but the bar is nearly empty and the few patrons would hear things she can’t allow them to.

He grins even brighter, delighted that she is the one who has to put herself in danger, while he can safely stay behind his block of wood. She closes most of the distance and gets a glimpse of his shadow-covered face, features revealing an unmistakably handsome man.

The bartender looks well on his way to a hangover, though he stands steadily on his feet and his eyes are as clear close-up as they were from a distance, so bright that even the shadows hadn’t concealed them.

He appraises her as she does him. Her instinct is good, because she had immediately looked passed his drunken cover and seen the danger, even reached for her weapon. She’s pretty, but young and naïve, and way out of her league in the darkest part of this city. Hunter, is his next conclusion. It’s the way she entered his bar, quiet and elegant, every alert at its highest setting, a searching gaze that found its target in a mere second. He wonders what a girl like her could want from him.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” he teases, glad that he’s not out in the open like her. Charlie rolls her eyes. It’s one of those things the older generations say. The underage drinking laws haven’t been enforced since the Blackout. Bar owners can no longer afford to refuse customers, they never could.

“Not looking for booze,” she says flippantly, trying to relax and claiming one of the stools, “I need a room.” She hooks her crossbow onto her belt and pulls her hair into a ponytail. She’s aware of the stares from the patrons, and shudders under their collective gaze. The bartender notices, but doesn’t remark on it. He can’t help people. The last time he tried he killed more than he saved, and this girl is responsible for her own mistakes. He isn’t there to fix it for her. She will have to fight the men off herself.

“Can’t do,” he replies, grabbing a tumbler and a cloth to start the dishes. If she attacks she’s always welcome to get a glass smashed into the side of her skull, “Only room is mine.” Not that he uses it. He hasn’t slept since he snuck into Philly. He’s always been a bad sleeper, but he is unprepared with the reality of actual insomnia. It’s been three days and as many hours of sleeps, spread out in ten-minute naps. He’s exhausted, and if Bass finds him now, he’s dead. Not that he would really mind. Either his own Militia kills him, or his liver will give out in a few years. He’s not picky.

“What’s your price?” she challenges, and puts down a piece of paper on the bar. At first, he thinks it’s an old bill, no longer of any value, but finds it blank. He frowns, and at her encouraging nod flips it over to reveal a picture of him and Ben.

His eyes shoot back to her. “How did you know where to find me?” he asks, because he connects the dots. She came here looking for him, knowing his location, which he has only disclosed once, and where he’s only been for a week or so. Ben sent her to him, which can only mean one thing.

“Ben’s dead, Miles,” Charlie convincingly lies without guilt, and watches her uncle fail to react. He just keeps staring until he sighs quietly, shoulders sagging. He nods to himself and goes back to the dishes, ignoring her. He doesn’t recognise her, thinks she is simply a messenger. “My dad is dead, and I’m alone,” she continues, the lie flawless the second time.

Her only plan, no matter how seemingly cruel, is the only way she could come up with where Miles didn’t sent her back home. The blow doesn’t seem to have reached her uncle. He’s lost so many people already that even his estranged brother is hardly a loss to grieve. The pile worth of self-hate material is so big that he barely notices the additions to it. He does, however, notice the second part of her declaration.

“Charlie?” Miles squints, trying to figure out how the little girl had grown into the teenager leaning against his bar. He knew Rachel was dead, though not as long as Charlie has undoubtedly been told, and without Ben she probably really is alone. He barely spends a thought on his sick and weakened nephew, who most likely didn’t survive long past the Blackout. Rachel certainly never mentioned him after she surrendered.

So his sixteen-year-old niece lost her parents and her brother, and with her family on the run for so long, doesn’t have anybody to stay with except her uncle. It’s a sad day to realise he is the best option as a guardian for his niece.

“Take the stairs, there’s only one door. I’ll throw them out and then we’ll talk.”

The smile she gives him is so hopeful and bright that he knows he’s not getting himself out of this one, and he catches himself thinking he doesn’t even mind it all that much.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie plans her meeting with Bass years in advance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm trying out this other version-ish of Charlie. She is spending all of her time with Miles without any buffer whatsoever, which keeps them incredibly close, and they have all the time in the world to devote to her training, 'cause they have nowhere to go and nobody to save. I also felt that for this story, Charlie would replace her obsession with protecting Danny with Bass, which is what I'm focusing this chapter on. Have fun!

“I want to meet him,” Charlie says one night after they’ve fled from even more soldiers looking for Miles. She’s a fighter now, strong and smarter and independent. The girl can take out three soldiers with only a blade and survive a week in the forest. She’s grown into a woman, even though she’s still a child age-wise.

 “Mmmh,” Miles mumbles from his pillow. They’re in an abandoned hunting cabin, far into the woods and laying low. They found an actual bed in it, big enough to share, their duffels serving as a wall between them. Miles insisted.

 Charlie is staring at the leaking ceiling, her hands behind her head. Her uncle is almost dead to the world, desperate for sleep and unable to get it. It’s been over a year, and he’s sleeping for hours at a time again, but his niece is keeping him up.

 He’s learned to sleep through her babbling when she starts, treats it as a lullaby most of the time, but whenever _he_ invades the conversation topic, Miles is filled with a burning need to return to his best friend’s side.

 He lifts his head to make himself understandable. “Don’t,” he says, before lowering himself back into the musty pillow. Usually, when he does that, Charlie shuts up…no wait, she doesn’t. His niece inherited the Matheson stubbornness, and with Rachel’s genetic influence it’s no wonder she never ever listens to him. Frankly, she makes it a habit to do the exact opposite of what he tells her to.

 “Not Monroe,” she adds quickly, because she knows Miles better than he’d intended to let her, “Bass,” she says, emphasis on the name in a way that only makes sense to them. ”He’s just lost, Miles, like you were.” The ’before I found you’ is implied but remains unspoken.

 It’s not like he hasn’t considered it before, going back, trying to save the friend and brother he is guilty of turning into a monster. He is also pessimistic enough to know it won’t work. He’s the bad influence that got Bass into the mess he is in, in the first place. It’s nice to know that a year with her grumpy uncle hasn’t crushed Charlie’s unending optimism and naiveté.

 “And how were you planning to do that?” Miles asks. His niece listens to rational arguments up to a point, so he forgoes the emotional reasons to push her away from this idea and goes straight to the planning.

 She shrugs from her place on the bed, which he only feels because the mattress moves. “Hadn’t though that far ahead yet.” Charlie is so much like him and Bass a decade ago that it scares him. He hopes that she’ll never have to learn the hard way how stupid it is to act on her ideas without a second thought.

 “Of course you hadn’t,” he mutters irritably, turning to face her because his mind is spinning with long-discarded hopes and dreams. He pulls the duffels out of the way and look at Charlie, who turns to her side and stares back defiantly.

 “We’d have to get him out of Philly first,” she starts, deep in thought. Miles has told her stories of his adventures with Bass occasionally, but often enough that Charlie knows Sebastian Monroe almost as well as he does, and she’s never even met the guy. Bass no longer leaves his city for much, paranoid that not only rebels, but also Miles and his own Militia will be ready to shoot him in the back the moment he steps a foot out of his own walls.

 “Not easy,” Miles cautions, afraid to encourage her too much and actively add to this conversation. If there’s one person in the world who can convince him to do something as stupid as this, it’s Charlie.

 “We’d need to make him come to us, challenge him, give him something he can’t refuse. You.” She only just stops herself from adding her dad to that list, and Miles sees her hesitation. He writes it off as if she feels guilty for talking about her uncle as bait, and they continue.

 “His attention would be hard to get, he has enough lackeys to send in his place. Take a hostage maybe?” she trails off there, no longer talking to Miles, who is fully focused on the half-assed plan Charlie is thinking up on the fly. “Neville would work,” she comments with a nod, getting up from the bed and pacing the five feet worth of length that the cabin has to offer. “Jeremy would be better, but I’m not going to do that to either of you.”

 Miles quietly thinks that he managed to make Charlie colder than he could tell at first glance. A year ago she never would’ve contemplated to kill somebody with pre-meditation. He watches her move from one side to the other, barely getting two steps in before she has to turn back.

 “We’d need to get him alone, away from the guards, a place only we and Monroe can get into,” she’s mumbling to herself, not noticing the cold even as she starts to shiver, clad only in shorts and her tank top.

 “You’re talking of creating a fortress with a fully armed guard and an army to keep the Militia away,” Miles summarizes slowly, trying to get through to her, but it’s a lost cause. Bass is her obsession, and it’s all Miles’ fault. The ink on Charlie’s skin is hidden in the shadows, but Miles knows very well that it’s there, and he’s terrified of what it means, of what he did to her mind that she welcomes the claim of two men who brought a dozen fallen states to their knees and turned them into an empire. It’s her sign of loyalty to him and Bass.

 “It would take a few years, but it’s not like I have anything better to do. We can't keep running forever either. And we could help, Miles. We could repair the Republic, but most of all, we can get Bass home, to us.”

 Miles is helpless against her hopeful smile, asking him to right his wrongs and do it with her by his side.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass and Charlie celebrate their victory and she welcomes him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My second attempt at smut, please notice that the rating has gone up. Enjoy, I know I did ;)

Bass and Charlie stand side by side, their attention focused on the retreating soldiers in the distance, only dead grass to show that they had ever set up camp near the fortress in the first place. Miles is a few feet away, talking with the team that will be making sure no Militia tries to double back.

 The citizens of Charlie’s fortress are celebrating, houses empty as the streets fill with people. Songs fill the air, the sound of feet as everybody dances similar to that of a well-coordinated march.

 Once the soldiers are out of sight, Charlie nudges Bass with her elbow and jerks her head in the general direction of their house. The man glances at Miles for a moment before he grabs her hand and tugs her down the stone stairs.

 They wade through the crowd easily and find themselves at their front door. Bass pushes through it, unlocked as always, and immediately presses the young woman against the surface, attacking her neck with little bites and greedy kisses.

 She rolls her eyes at his impatience, grins at the cuteness of it, and pushes him back. He pouts at her, eyes shimmering with unconcealed mirth, and holds up his hands in surrender. “Dad?” she shouts, the silence confirming that the house is four occupants short.

 Satisfied, she snatches Bass’ wrist and pulls him with her to her bedroom. What little patience he started out with is seemingly gone, for he continues exactly where they left off, not even giving her the time she needs to shut the door.

The wooden wall is hard and unyielding behind her back, but she can’t focus on it when her lover is distracting her by peppering her shoulder with kisses. He pushes her tank top and bra strap to the side to give himself more skin to worship, and Charlie hastily complies by tilting her head to the side and granting him access.

As soon as she does, he finds the perfect spot that is not shoulder and not throat, but in-between, and increases the pressure of his teeth. Charlie’s head thumps back against the wall as she moans, her knees weakening. She’s planning her revenge as he soothes the sting with his tongue, completely unapologetic, smiling into her skin.

She uses the fact that he has to bow his head to reach her shorter stature against him, hooking her foot behind his slightly bent knee and pushing her heel into the ticklish weak spot he has. This is hardly the first time, and she knows his body as well as she knows his history.

Charlie takes advantage of the momentum to switch their position, glad that the curtains are drawn as she presses him into the glass behind them. She rises to her toes and kisses him, a smug grin the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes to enjoy her administrations.

Her unoccupied hand is in his hair, while her right glides over the bulge in his jeans, the angle restricted by his arms on her hips. He arches forward, but she has him trapped with her own hips, which Bass doesn’t really mind. Charlie moans into his mouth, the battle for dominance long won by her lover, even from his caged position.

He breaks the kiss against her protesting stare, and she nibbles a hickey onto the patch of skin just beneath his ear. It took her ages to find it, and now she can’t seem to get enough of it, her fingers dancing across it whenever the opportunity arises, even during meetings and the occasional uncomfortable family dinner.

To free himself from the not entirely unwanted torment, but mostly just as an excuse to grab her ass, he lowers his arms and hitches her up onto his hips, her gasp of surprise a welcome sound in his ear. They detach from the wall, Charlie tightening her legs around his hips and pressing his hardness closer in the same move. Stumbling, Bass rips off her tank top, Charlie raising her arms from his neck just long enough to allow it. 

Before he loses his balance and crashes them into the floor, he turns and slams her back into the wall, his hand taking the blow meant for her skull. They’re both getting out of this with a new collection of bruises, but that’s nothing new.

Charlie toes off her boots and socks while Bass hitches her a little higher so he can worship the valley of her breasts, the red lace of her bra a reminder that they both knew this was going to happen today. He doesn’t take it off.

Bass goes even lower, leaving a trail of sensations on Charlie’s skin as he makes his way to his destination. Unable to continue with the acrobatics, he lowers her back to the ground, her feet unsteady as she plants them on the wooden floor. On his way down, he miraculously loses his shirt, and finds it in Charlie’s grip for a second, her appreciative eyes aimed at his muscled chest.

She throws it into a corner, not seeing where it lands because her focus shifts to Bass unbuttoning her jeans. Charlie just stands there, arms limp by her sides, her eyes glazing over at the sight of a shirtless and very aroused General Sebastian Monroe on his knees before her. And he hasn’t even done much yet.

Bass looks pretty proud of himself as he stares back, blindly yanking her jeans down her legs and kissing her hip while she steps out of them. Her panties match her bra, red and lacy, and very much appreciated by her lover.

His lips find the edge of the panties, and go straight for her clit through the material. He sucks gently, and hears Charlie cry out in pleasure, her hands tangling in his curls, not sure whether to pull him away or even closer. He mouths her through the lace, his fingers going for the sides of the panties and pulling them down, following them over her legs with his lips.

Charlie arches her hips, hoping to recreate the pleasure Bass so easily induced, but finds herself unable to. Bass’ muscled left arm is pressed across her hips, keeping her in place, and she can only try to gently guide him closer with her hands tangled in his curls.

Bass doesn’t listen, resisting her pull as his free hand caresses her inner thigh, nails softly scraping her skin, just an inch away from where she wants him to be. “Tease,” she grits through her teeth, trying to stay on her feet when her knees feel ready to give out on her already.

“Always,” Bass agrees before he enters her with two fingers, finding her wet and ready. She is hot and tight around his digits, and he groans at just the thought of how she will feel around his cock. He curls his fingers, experienced with her body and finding the right spot on his second try. His arm strains to keep her pinned, muscles bulging as she fights to increase the pressure and relieve the ache on her clit.

He takes mercy on her, at least for a short while, and laps at her folds with great enthusiasm, his fingers slowly curling and uncurling in a unrecognisable rhythm. Charlie is so close that all that’s keeping her standing is the arm she’s fighting against. Her breath is laboured and frequently interrupted by her own pleasured sighs and moans.

“Bass,” she cries out, warning him that she is close, and in the same heartbeat pleading for him to continue. Instead, his hand stills and he draws his mouth away from her clit. For just a second she thinks he might’ve interpreted her cry as a protest, but when she looks down at his blue eyes she sees his grin that reaches from ear to ear.

“Yes?” he says, like she called him from the next room and he has his head in the doorway asking how he can help her. His fingers are still inside her, the friction burn caused by his stubble tingling, her skin red.

She tugs on his hair, intentionally hard this time, but his grin only widens. Bass licks his lips at the sight above him. Charlie is flushed, her cheeks a dark pink and sweat coating her skin. Her locks are tapered to her forehead and tangled around her shoulders, blue eyes crazed with undeniable lust.

“Fuck,” she exclaims softly, hoarse and her lungs out of oxygen, “I can’t.” She doesn’t finish the sentence, her voice shaking. “Please,” she breathes, another tug on his curls, this time radiating desperation.

Bass nuzzles her thigh. “You beg so pretty, Charlotte,” he murmurs against her skin. She’s going to kick his ass for this later, but he waits another second, for a plea that can’t come because she’s lost in a haze of lust and pleasure. His arm strains to keep her upright.

 At last, after what feels like ages to Charlie, he moves his fingers inside her and reattaches his mouth to her clit. Her climax hits her hard, her eyes rolling back in her head and her vision gone for a moment. Bass keeps moving through it, prolonging the pleasure with his mouth and fingers, stopping only just before her orgasm fades and her sensitivity would turn the administrations into pain.

 They’re both left panting, but Bass isn’t done yet. His cock is painfully straining against his jeans, protesting at being left unattended for so long. Charlie’s already falling to her knees; one, because she’s too weak to stand and her lover has released her from his hold, and two, because she wants to return the favour and get back at him for making her beg, and still not comply immediately to her wishes when she did.

 Bass has a different idea. He picks her up, bridal-style, and throws her onto the nearest bed, which isn’t hers.

 She prefers rooming with Miles over sleeping three feet away from her little teenage brother after a year on the run together. Charlie and her dad have gotten into two dozen screaming matches about it, and she’s won every single one of them. Now that Bass is going to be living with them, he’s going to need a room as well, but she’s not gonna kick Miles out of his own bed, even if she’s apparently going to be fucking Bass on it.

 Bass can see what she’s thinking, knows perfectly well that he is staring at Charlie on Miles’ bed, already looking properly fucked with her hair in a halo around her face and sweat shining on every inch of her bare body, only the bra still cupping her breasts.

 He rids himself of his jeans without any ceremony and joins her on his best friend’s bed, crawling over her naked form and pressing every available inch of her skin to hers when he lowers himself to kiss her. His cock is hard against her belly, and Charlie aches for him to enter her.

 “Fuck me,” she orders, long past the begging, knowing he is too desperate himself to keep holding out in her. She wraps one leg around his hip, heel digging into his back, and urges him forward. Bass lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, and thrusts up and in.

 He groans at the feeling of her inner walls clenching around his length, starts moving and both hears and feels Charlie whimper at the intrusion, her eyes clenched shut as she pushes him deeper with her heel.

He moves his hips, slowly at first, but unable to do so for long, his own desire loosening his usually impeccable control. Bass’ thrusts are fast and hard, Charlie clinging to his shoulders, her cheek glued to his.

Charlie, still sensitive, experiences her second explosion of pleasure of the day, her walls tightening around him uncontrollably, which sends Bass over the edge as well. He pulls out just in time, come spurting over her stomach as his hand furiously strokes up and down.

He collapses on top of her, unable to roll away without falling off Miles’ twin bed. She seems content to have him there, her fingers playing with his curls while they enjoy the afterglow, the muffled sounds of the party outside the only noise attempting to hide their heavy breathing.

“Welcome home, Bass,” she whispers in his ear.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie shows Bass around her fortress, hidden pathways included.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried my hardest to come up with a scene directly following chapter 3, and failed miserably. The dialogue is horrible, the flow interrupted, and the reactions of Bass and Miles way out of character, so I won't be posting that one for a while, if ever. But it's been to weeks, so I find myself writing this scene for Fortress before I continue yesterday's Willingly Taken.

There is a sewer system running beneath the town. Bass can't believe his eyes as Charlie opens a hatch in the kitchens and drops herself down a manhole, forgoing the ladder for speed. The entrance is exactly in the center of the circle created by the wall, an easy way out and collapsible with one tiny explosive in case of an invasion.

Bass is still unsure what he's going to do. His soldiers are still camped outside, less than a mile away. They are dead if the try to come close, no protection against arrows and clearly outnumbered, with no way inside. He can't let this resistance stand, though. The Monroe Republic is having a hard time already with the rebels on the inside and Georgia at the border. The president can't afford to let an uprising such as this one go unpunished, or the North-East quadrant of the former USA will once again crumble and descent into chaos with more starvation, sickness and eventual deaths. Or they'll have to answer to Kelly Foster, but that's not all that much better.

They are returning from a hunt. Charlie went outside, spotted a deer, put an arrow through its eye with her crossbow, and has cornered the general into helping her drag it back to the kitchens. She did that in four minutes, like a force of nature. "Why couldn't you skin it first?" Bass asks almost out of breath. The deer is almost twice his weight, and he hasn't done manual labor like this in almost a decade. Just the meat would've been far lighter, and easier to carry. He is lucky that he is paranoid enough to keep in shape.

The young woman smirks at his state, and then grimaces as she heaves the animal up again. "We bury the left-overs beneath our plantations," she pants, ignoring the strain on her arms, "it's cheap fertilizer, and doesn't leave a trace for your guys to follow." He has scouts looking for hunters all the time. Good ones are hard to find, and many eventually double as his personal bounty hunters. Charlie's skilled shot would have send somebody to investigate eventually. "Three," she says, and they move the body another three feet.

The first mile in the sewer system had been easy, a wheeled cart ready to be loaded and pulled forth. Sadly, nature has put a strain on the structure, and the cart can't come closer than a hundred feet to the manhole. "Then why haven't you repaired the collapse back there yet?" he questions, longingly looking back at the cart that is partly hidden from few by a cave-in, which has halved the width of the passage.

"Only one soldier can get through that collapse at the time, it makes it easy to defend in case someone finds out about the tunnel and attacks underground." The 'someone like you' goes unspoken but is clearly audible. She's just as unsure as he is about the future. His own increasing unpredictability is working for and against him at the same time. Even Miles isn't sure what Bass is going to do. Still, they've trusted him with the location of the sewer system, though that can be strategic as well. Besides, Charlie is right; attacking with the collapse in the way makes his soldiers dead on arrival. 

Bass almost misses her next words, mind whirling with battle strategies. "I would've had a second cart built for this side, but it's usually just rabbits and squirrels piled up, so it's not worth the trouble." It looks like she wants to shrug, but her grip on the deer's legs gets in the way.

 She drops the body and climbs the ladder, knocking on the bottom. "You really thought out everything, huh," he mutters. She doesn't hear him, the echo vibrating through the tunnel. He's stupidly still holding the legs, and is disgusted by his own stupidity. Bass immediately lets go of the dead animal, and composes himself.

 The cover on the manhole is shoved aside by somebody in the kitchen, and a hand gives Charlie a length of rope. "Thanks," the young woman smiles, agile as she jumps back down and bends over the deer. She ties a series of knots, skilled fingers working the rope around the soon-to-be meal. Miles definitely didn't teach her this. This is a talent that is completely Charlie, self-taught like her hunting skills. It's a quality that Bass admires even when he would rather not.

 "Go!" Charlie calls to the cooks upstairs, and suddenly the rope is rising, a mechanical lift dragging the deer up, guided by strong arms pushing the lever. The general sighs in relief as the wretched thing disappears from sight, and allows his companion up first, just for an excuse to stare at her ass. She's all natural muscle, her body lean and limber, strong enough to haul a deer  through a tunnel, and soft enough to soundlessly travel through the woods.

When he pushes himself up into the back-room of the kitchen, Charlie is already skinning the beast with two others helping, a woman and a man. She talking rapidly, and though she is half the age of these people, they listen closely to her instructions. "Get the skin to Anne, she'll be able to use it for winter coats. I know it's still spring, but we were almost short last time, and we can never start too early. Bring the bones to Paul, he's asked for as many as possible. He and James are going to try and make arrowheads with them, don't ask me how. Also, the antlers are for Jane. I have no idea what she wants to do with them, but I suspect she wants new knives. You know how she is." Both cooks nod, so Charlie smiles and walks away, leaving them to finish the work. She has less fun jobs to do today.

Bass feels her grab his wrist, and is dragged outside. She knows him well enough not to let her out of her sight. She trusts Bass, but it is still Monroe with whom she has been hunting this morning. The first people are already up. The farmers, the cooks and the guards walk around with a familiar routine, seemingly unworried with the Militia stationed just outside. The guards are knocking on doors in a practiced pattern, waking the other citizens up. They'll know that breakfast will be in half an hour, and which jobs they'll be attending to another thirty minutes after that.

Out of nowhere, maybe sensing Bass' curiosity, Charlie begins a tour. "The sewer system was part of an old factory that was taken down just months before the black out. There was a new one scheduled to be built, but funding was cut. The underground was kept intact for future purposes, and Miles and I decided to take advantage." They'd liked the location, loved the parallel river, and planned the town from there.

"The houses are standard, three bedrooms, living room and bathroom. We created the public kitchen to save on individual food preparation, space, and to make sure everyone eats healthily. There's two people per bedroom, making six in total. One of them has to be a minor, we have Danny." Bass vaguely recalls that to be her brother. He'd glanced over the name before, barely realizing the kid was still alive against all the odds stacked against him. "Three have to be soldiers and follow mandatory training," she continues, heading east.

"Ben's a soldier?" Bass interrupts, not really seeing it. Still, Miles and Charlie makes two and they need a third according to her own rules. She snorts loudly. "Hardly. Dad is probably the worst fighter we have." She makes a turn unexpectedly, nearly pulling his shoulder out of its socket. She still hasn't let go of his wrist.

"The woman than?" He can't recall her name, only that she was female and probably Rachel's long-overdue replacement.  

Charlie shakes her head. "Maggie runs the apothecary. She was a doctor and is in charge of all things medical." Bass can see clearly that she doesn't like Ben's new girlfriend a bit, it's written in her expression with giant neon lettering. "We're still waiting for the third," she hints, and he can remember every detail of his name plate on their coffee table. "And Miles easily counts for at least two soldiers," she follows up, gently distancing them from the subject while she leaves him pondering. She finally lets go of him, giving him some space. He still follows her to her next destination.

They enter the blacksmith's workplace, the man who must be Paul already sweating over a huge fire. A child, James, probably, is in the corner on a stool with a pile of perfect feathers and a heap of unfinished arrows, adding them together like he has been doing nothing else in years, and with a speed that almost makes it look like magic.

Charlie ignores Paul, who hasn't even spotted her yet, and drops a kiss on the James' mop of messy black hair. "You shouldn't be up this early," she scolds gently, and reaches into her pocket. She takes out a sheet of crumpled paper, and straightens it to reveal yellow lines. "Candied lemon strips, all for you," she smiles, and James envelops her in a hug, tearing the feather that was still in his hands.

"Thank you, Miss Charlie," he mumbles against her stomach. Paul puts down his equipment and greets her too, raising an eyebrow at Bass. "You're new," he says suspiciously, and Bass holds back a wince as he notices his own brand on the blacksmith's arm. A lot of people deserted after Miles left, a lot of them more loyal to the secretly dubbed 'Matheson Militia' than Monroe's. His best friend has a way of unintentionally inspiring people's loyalty.

"It's him," Charlie admits, seemingly fine with yelling Bass' presence from the rooftops. Paul looks the president up and down with a critical eye, and then shrugs. The people in the fortress are probably the ones who hate Sebastian Monroe the least in the whole world. Doesn't mean they particularly have to like him either. "He staying?" 

She shrugs back and nods to the filled quivers stacked against the western wall. "Those ready?" Paul nods and James shakes his head up and down so fast he looks like he's vibrating. Charlie counts them quickly and multiplies by two dozen before making a note on her hand with a pen from the table. Those won't exist anymore in a few years either, she mourns silently.

"Let's go." She jabs Bass in the side to get him moving, and walks across the path into another building. The archives look identical to the normal houses, but is filled from top to bottom with stacks of maps, books, documents, contracts and warrants, Miles and Ben staring back at them from the wall. Charlie grabs a ledger from the shelve and opens it so Bass can't see it. She adds in the new numbers and crosses out the ones that no longer apply.

"So you killed Tom Neville," Bass mentions from his place by the door, his arms crossed and his eyes on her.

She doesn't even blink at the accusation, at the reminder she killed somebody by nicking their carotid artery with a pointy arrowhead. "To be fair," she speaks, not looking up, "he did try to force me to open the gate at gunpoint." She has been killing for four years, one more or less isn't going to grant her access to heaven, if she even believed in it in the first place. Besides, Neville had not been a saint either. 

"Why kill him? You had to know an army would be coming." This part stumps him. A thousand men are a simple message away from joining the tiny army out front. Charlie risked everything by killing Tom, gambled the safety of everyone inside the fortress.

"I knew you would be coming," she says, meeting his gaze. She and Jeremy had made sure of it.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie implements another phase of her plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it has been ages since I last updated Fortress, but I finally got some meager inspiration for this scene, and decided to write it down just for giggles. Also, I miss Jeremy as a character like crazy, he has far too few scenes in canon, and I wanted to add some FF so I can enjoy him more often ;)

"You here to kill me then?" Jeremy asks as he spots Miles in his chair once he exits his bathroom. The former general looks good, like he did when the captain first met him. The general's friend drops down in the second unused armchair and makes sure he doesn't cross his arms or legs, instead sprawling across as much of the surface as possible. He is not going into this situation defensively. Jeremy needs to be as open as possible if he wants a chance to make it out of his rooms alive. 

"Haven't considered that in a while, no," Miles answers wryly, the corner of his lip twitching up in the ghost of a smile, "I'm just playing bodyguard today." Jeremy frowns and realizes just before he hears another voice that there is someone else in the room.

"We need your help," Charlie says from her relaxed position lying on Jeremy's expensive and incredibly rare luxury mattress. The captain observes the girl in his bed with rapt attention. She is stunning and looks very fine among his pillows indeed. He cannot imagine why Miles would ever work as a bodyguard for a girl like this. It makes no sense at all.

Miles slaps him on the back of his head, having suddenly moved from the chair facing Jeremy to standing behind him. "That's my niece you're drooling over," the big bad uncle growls in his ear. The captain sighs in disappointment, aware that this girl is absolutely off limits, and that he isn't going to be having any fun after all.

"So what do you need?" Just to spite Miles, he throws in the most suggestive tone he can manage and watches the girl as she doesn't even react. Shame. He gets another mostly friendly smack for it and decides then and there that he might not want to provoke Miles today, if ever.

"Your company," Charlie answers, her eyebrow raised in amusement as her seductively silky voice makes Jeremy gape. Of course this girl has Miles' humor and general disposition. He suddenly fears that Miles might not be the most dangerous occupant in the room. The thought is hardly comforting. "For Monroe, of course," she adds with a smirk.

Jeremy lets out a bark of slightly nervous laughter, not liking where this is going at all. Mathesons and Bass don't go together all that well these days. The mere mention of Miles is enough to send Monroe into a murderous rage.

"C'mon, kid," Miles chides, "Baker hardly deserves the teasing. We do actually need him, remember? It was your idea after all." 

"Alright," Charlie consents with a nod and the purse of her lips. "I need you to send Bass out to Tom Neville's convoy when a report of a disturbance comes in. Tell him to go handle it personally, maybe suggest that he will get some inspiration for the war with the other republics. We'll take it from there."

"And why exactly would I betray my own president for two traitors? I am not a rebel." Jeremy thinks it disappointing that Miles would think so little of the captain. Granted, he had always liked Miles more, but after the stunt the former general pulled Jeremy feels not much of any kind of loyalty for him anymore. It's insulting to hear that Miles and his niece are assuming he will set Bass up for a trap, no matter how badly the President and his Republic are digressing.

Charlie does the talking. "Because Monroe is going insane, the Republic has been going down the drain since long before Miles left," she wants to continue her summary, but Jeremy interrupts her: "You mean he fled like a coward and left us all to pick up his slack and the demons and hate he'd left behind in Philly and the Militia. Sorry mini-Matheson, but we would all be better of if the world had one general less, and I know exactly which one I prefer."

He might be sketchy when it comes to loyalty or appreciation of human life, but he owes both generals a life debt, and protecting Bass from Miles at least pays one half of it.

Charlie exchanges a look with Miles, and the man shrugs. "I told you he wouldn't go for it." Charlie sticks her tongue out in annoyance and turns back to Jeremy.

"How would you feel if I promised you the position of President of the Monroe Republic?" The men snort in unison at the notion. 

"Kid," Miles addresses, "Baker here has been refusing a promotion steadily for almost a decade. Presidency isn't exactly what you should be bargaining with here. Leverage and blackmail only work when you have something the other actually wants."

"Than what?" Charlie sneers, frustrated that Miles isn't on her side in this instance. She isn't used to it. Frankly, it's not happened since she first met him. It seems that getting Miles his friends back, she's going to have to share her uncle. She's not looking forward to that part, even if she does want her uncle to be happy.

"His best friend back," Miles admits quietly, and understanding dawns in Charlie's eyes.

"He's right," Jeremy admits easily, "But seeing as you can't offer me a sane Bass or a non-rebel Miles, you're stuck."

Charlie grins unexpectedly, and Jeremy braces himself for whatever she is going to say next, having recognized that smile as one so similar to Miles' that they must mean the same thing; They have a plan to convince him, and they know he is just desperate enough by now to accept even the slightest chance of getting both his friends back.

 


End file.
